WolfEagle1499's blog: "Good Reading for the Military"

Hello, I've been seeing some bulletins and Blogs here on FuBar and across the Internet again about the about the Launching of the USS New York (LPD-21),a San Antonio-class amphibious transport dock. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/USS_New_York_(LPD-21) One major problem these stories all have is a picture of the WRONG SHIP in it. This is a very common error. They use the USS San Antonio (LPD-17), because you can find a nice at sea photo of it. Not the Dry dock photos of the real USS New York (LPD-21). http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/San_Antonio_class_amphibious_transport_dock To find out what ship you are really looking at, all you need is the HULL NUMBER, printed on the side of the ship in LARGE white Letters. Then go to http://www.navy.mil/navydata/our_ships.asp. Oh in case you want to know where I think most people are getting the Photo of the USS New York. Just click on the Top photo of these page: The Navy's Amphibious Transport Dock - LPD Fact sheet
(http://www.navy.mil/navydata/fact_display.asp?cid=4200&tid=600&ct=4) Well I hope this helps clear up a Few things,

Hello Everyone, This sad news was sent to me. http://fubar.com/blog/9338/456087 Adam a 21 Year old Soldier was injured by an IED in Iraq. He lost half of his left face... His left eye is gone, nose is messed up and Jaw smashed... While he is not a member of Fubar, we do have a member that is near by Ladnstuhl Hospital in Germany. Where he is recovering. Again here is the BLOG about his Injuries: http://fubar.com/blog/9338/456087 My Thanks to Jessica for bring this to my attention. Army.Wifez.are.Tougher

@ fubar

I came across these videos on http://www.youtube.com. And I got chills watching them. Also got me thinking about those Brave Men and Women that fought in World War II. Do you know the roughly 1,000 WWII Veterans are dieing each Day? And that the Youngest is in the 80's? (I know this because I have a Friend that just turned 80 on Sunday & he is a WWII Veteran) How Long until none are Left? How long until all that History is GONE? ---------------------------------------------- This First video is about US Army Veterans Returning to RAF Greenham Common, June 2004. I know this base while, I served there for 2 years in the late 80's (during the Cold War) ---------------------------------------------- Here is a Video about The 101st & 82nd Jump into Normandy -- D-Day +60 Years. ---------------------------------------------- Last is one about D-day on Omaha Beach. But this time it is June 6 2004 AM 6:30. ------------------------------------ All these Videos are in my Stash as well. Let me know if you want them and having a hard time getting them off http://www.youtube.com I hope you Enjoy these as much as I did,

Man took a flight, he was finally coming home, Feeling more relieved than any man has known, He spent so long, in a place that most fear, And when that plane landed down came a tear, Plane door opens still in uniform he stands, Nervous and confused, about stepping back on home land, He follows the others, checking each face for grief, But all that he noticed was the faces had relief, He steps off the plane and people were there, The Soldier astonished could do nothing but stare, They greeted him with open arms, a hug, and a sign, That said thank you soldier, your life for mine, Soldier walks still in uniform, down the street, He passes a man walking, he looks down to his feet, The man looks to him and stops him in his place, Only the Soldier and him, the man spits in his face, Soldier again with a tear, he asks only why, The man returns with an answer, a brutal reply, I do not respect you for the things that you've done, Soldier just listens as the man cuts him to none, Soldier said Sir, can I show something to you, Man says sure thats what you need to do, He lifts up his shirt, hand trembling as it rose, The man watched but with an upward nose, The man looks down and in his sight he sees, Three bullet wounds, as big as can be, The soldier said Sir..now let me tell what these are, Not freedom, not war, but everlasting scars, Now Sir you may not respect me, but I do as I am told, And each command I am given, I follow being bold, Now these three bullets I hold with out fear, Cause each ones has a reason, those reasons I want you to hear, He points to the first and says this ones for my family, No one can take them from me, Then to the second, he says with pride, This ones for my comm rads and the ones that died, Now Sir let me tell you what this last is to, This is one is for my nation, my honor, and you, And I want you to know that you may not like me, But other soldiers and I, be all we can be, So Dont respect me you have that right, And that my friend is the reason I fight, The man looked at him with a tear in his eye, He said please forgive me, I knew not the reasons why, The Soldier with a smile, looked back at the man, Said I am a US Soldier, I do what I can, And as he walked away, his face still with a smile, Thats what makes what I do worth while, Thanks to the American Soldiers!!! ------------------------------ I got this from a bulletin posted by: DJ Jaded X

Every lieutenant is convinced that his gunnery sergeant is the best in the Marine Corps, but in my case I think it may be true. Or at least I have a major contender. After serving an initial officer tour with 3d Tanks, 3d MarDiv, on Okinawa I was transferred in the mid-1970's to Marine Barracks, Subic Bay, Republic of the Philippines, as a Guard Officer. I was assigned to Separate Guard Company, Cubi Point Naval Air Station, which had its barracks next to the Seabees up on the hill above the Air Station, just across the road from the Cubi Point Officers' Club. Separate Guard Co. was a task-organized unit, primarily responsible for providing security for the U.S. Naval Magazine, which at 20+ square miles was the largest American ammunition processing and storage area in the Pacific, and which contained the "go to war" reserve ammo for the Pacific Fleet and the 3d MarDiv as well as munitions for Clark AFB. It also contained a Nuclear Exclusion Area containing special weapons. Separate Guard was the size of a small battalion, commanded by a major with a captain X.O., and consisted of three company-sized platoons commanded by first lieutenants. I commanded 2d Platoon, and Gunnery Sergeant Earl Bartlett was my platoon sergeant. Gunny Bartlett was a superlative Staff NCO. He had played football for the Marine Corps back in the States, and went into the Reserves and played professional ball as a lineman for the Pittsburgh Steelers for a couple of years prior to returning to active duty as a career Marine. He was over six feet tall, Black, weighed about 245 pounds--- none of which was anything but muscle---and had the only perfectly round head I have ever seen. He had a head like a shaved bowling ball; when he wore his utility cover the bill was perfectly straight, not curved down on the corners as usual. He didn't have a neck. His ears kind of sloped down into his axe-handle-wide shoulders and his huge arms, bulging with muscle (He had a very hard time rolling up the sleeves of his utilities, and had to surreptitiously slit the lower seams to make it work.) terminated in hands the size of small hams which hung below his knees. He had a deep bass voice that could be heard, as a result of a tour as a drill instructor, upwind at about a half a mile. And to put the icing on the cake, belying his outward Neanderthal appearance, he was a very bright guy, and had a wicked sense of humor. Gunny was the most squared-away Marine I ever served with. The Philippines is a very hot and humid place, and he liked to set the example for the troops, so at lunch he would march over to his hooch and "break starch" on a clean set of utilities and don a freshly spit- shined pair of boots for the afternoon. A bachelor, he lived in a room in the Staff NCO Quarters just across the road from our headquarters barracks. He once invited me over to his room. He had put up a long piece of steel water pipe the length of one end of his room and on the pipe hung a dozen starched and pressed utility uniforms. Above them was a shelf containing 12 starched and pressed utility covers. Under them were six pairs of spit-shined combat boots. I was a married officer on an accompanied tour, but as many of you may know, a permanent assignment to the Philippines was paradise for single Marines. I was always impressed by their stamina. We worked "24 on/24 off" at Separate Guard. The U.S. dollar was worth so much in the P.I in the '70's that two or three enlisted Marines could afford to rent and furnish a house in Oolongapo City outside the gate, hire both a maid/cook and the appropriate number of live-in hookers, and still have money left over to bar-hop practically every night until the midnight curfew chased them home. They would party until midnight, head home and "refresh" their girls until 0200-0300, and then head back in to the base at 0500 to make our 0600 P.T. formation. After calisthenics we would generally run anywhere from 3 to 5 miles... and given that our barracks was at the top of the highest hill in the vicinity, that meant running the back end of the run uphill. Running next to my Marines was like running past the San Miguel Brewery as they sweated out the last evening's consumption, and periodically one of the troops would run to the side of the road and barf up beer into the jungle prior to rejoining the formation. Morning formation in uniform of the day was at 0745 in the parking lot in front of the Barracks. The company would form up in three platoon blocks fronted by their platoon commanders, and the C.O. would march out and call the formation to attention for Colors and to pass the day's activities, assignments and training schedule. Prior to the C.O.'s arrival the Company Gunny would poll the platoon sergeants for "present for duty" status. One well-remembered morning, when Gunny Bartlett was checking personnel status with our squad leaders, the third squad leader, Sgt. Etsheidt, reported "one man missing". Gunny asked, "Who?" The squad leader told him that one of his Marines had come in early that morning from town, still drunk out of his mind, had hit the rack, missed P.T. because he couldn't be woken, and when he was woken again just prior to formation said, "F---k it... Tell Gunny I ain't comin'". Gunny Bartlett never missed a beat. He called the platoon to attention, turned over control to the 1st squad leader, did an about face, saluted smartly, and asked, "Sir, permission to be excused for zero 5 mikes?" "Granted, Gunny", I replied. Now our barracks were non-air-conditioned tropical barracks, which meant they were sturdy steel-reinforced concrete structures that had screened sides with floor-to-ceiling aluminum louvers that could be cranked out to let the breeze through the entire structure or shut to keep out the monsoon rains. My platoon was billeted in four man rooms on the "second deck", which had a set of outside metal fire stairs leading up to the steel door on the end of the barracks. It was these steps that Gunny Bartlett ascended in his quest for the missing Marine. The rest of the platoon had been given "at ease" out on the parking lot, and necks craned back towards the barracks as my Marines followed Gunny's echoing progress up the stairs, through the door, and down the hall towards the miscreant's room. He arrived in the room of the hung-over young Marine---a private who had been assigned to the Marine Barracks right out of Boot Camp and who had only been with the Barracks for about three months---and the second deck of the building reverberated with a series of bellows, clangs and crashes. The Marines in platoon formation cringed as whispered exclamations of "Oh, Sh- t!" were heard. (Gunny was famous for his up- close and personal "counseling sessions" with uncooperative young Marines.) There were further sounds of scuffling heard echoing down the second deck as Gunny and his charge approached the steel fire door at the end of the barracks. As luck would have it, the major opened the first deck door at the end of the barracks on the way to take the morning formation just as Gunny and his burden reached the door above. There was a resounding "CLANG!" as the steel door was kicked open into the steel railing of the fire stairs, and then a kind of horrible warbling "AAAAAHHHHH!" as the young Marine, who was about 5 feet 9 and 150 pounds, sailed out of the open door gaining altitude as he cleared the railing and fell to the grass at the end of the barracks, clad in one rubber flip- flop and a pair of issue white boxer shorts. He landed right in front of the C.O., on his back, and after a minute of trying to regain his breath, got to his knees and elbows just as Gunny Bartlett marched out of the door and down the stairs, squaring away his military alignment as he came. Gunny made the corner and saw the Skipper standing there with his hands on his hips, looking at the kid on the grass. Gunny snapped of a crisp salute and a "Good morning, Sir!" The major returned the salute, looked bemusedly at the kid on the grass, looked back at Gunny Bartlett, and said, "Gunny, did I see what I just saw?" Gunny replied, "No sir, the Major didn't". The C.O., nodded and replied, "Very well then, Gunnery Sergeant, carry on.", turned, and walked down the sidewalk out to the formation. Gunny Bartlett walked over to the Marine, picked him up by the back of the neck and the elastic waist of his skivvy shorts, frog-marched him over to the end of the third squad, planted him next to the last Marine at the end of the file, and with formal facing movements marched to the front of the platoon, called them to attention, did a crisp about face, saluted, and reported, "All present or accounted for, Sir." I loved the guy. With him as my platoon sergeant I had the easiest job in the Marine Corps. Don Kaag LTC, Armor, AUS(Ret.) ...and former Sgt. & Cpt. of Marines ------------------------------ I got this from a Bulletin posted by: Proud Military Dad

This is a Special Bulliton for a special person. This is to see how many people really pay attention to what is said on profiles. As a matter of fact you all know me well for the military spot lights. Well this is one, and a very special on at that. Please take some time to stop by Ricks page and pay close attention to what is said in his about me section. Tears were brought to my eyes by what has been said, and I would like others to know his story. Im doing this bulliton, because some people take for granit what military members do for others. Not all have it easy like you may think. Some military members get to do more then others. But all stand up for what they do. If it were not for them risking there lives for yours what would we do? Poisonflightledr~Pls sign guessbook n fan me~cmfederate bombers family member~ @ fubar While at Ricks page please show him a little love. There are plenty of pics, and large stash that can be rated.

(repost of original by '**DJ Devil Witch** AKA Adopt a soldier (Phoenix's CT wife)~Military Bombers Family~' on '2007-07-21 21:33:14') **DJ Devil Witch** AKA Adopt a soldier (Phoenix's CT wife)~Military Bombers Family~

I received a message today from David Stopher, with a link to a Blog of a letter he wrote in a counseling program for PTSD. http://www.cherrytap.com/blog/9580 Dave also asked if I wanted to post this on my page. After reading it, I was greatly honored that he asked me to help him spread this among our Fighting Men & Women -- Our Warriors! WARNING: Get Tissues, you will cry!! Well here is His Full Blog: ----------------------------------------------- To my friends at the LC; For the Veterans on LC; For my Family; For my Brothers and Sisters in arms: This is a work that I did in 1997 as part of a counseling program for PTSD. There have been many similar type works out there, but this one is unique, as it was written over the course of only about 15 minutes as I poured my heart out on to paper. Some will understand, others will not. For those that have family in the sandbox; Your Brother/Sister/Son/Daughter/Father/Mother will seem different after they return. They will have a different look in their eyes... a serious one. Use this to learn. Use this to understand. Use this to love again! Please feel free to repost this, but PLEASE... This is copywrited work. Please leave this unchanged in content! Thanks, Dave Stopher www.davestopher.com/warrior.htm +~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+ Shed no tear for me for I am a warrior. I chose my path willingly, only to be granted my wish. I've suffered, I've toiled, and I’ve bled because I was told to do so for a greater cause. I helped, I fought, I prayed, Oh, I prayed more. I cried, and sometimes, I died. My friends will not get old; they will be immortally young. I fear getting old. The ones that left behind loved ones are the lucky ones. Those that have someone to loose, there fight is bittersweet. Some will not know love, and yet, some will. I am a Warrior. I fight, I bleed, I cry. If you shed a tear for me, shed it only in pride. Do not cry for me, cry WITH me, for my brothers have fallen. They gave life for words like God, Honor, Country, and Duty. They served a greater cause, not unlike these four simple words. They secured an idea for us to follow. They are the bankers, the truck drivers, the meat cutters and the factory workers. They heard a calling that is far too soft for most to hear. They gave their lives so others might be spared. I am a Warrior. My tales may neither always be whole, nor always truth, but they are mine. They are as my eyes remember. Some funny, some sad, they bring back memories of my youth and innocence lost. They tell of far away places, and not so familiar faces. They give undue credit at times, yet are humble at others. They tell of men who have become as brothers and friends. They tell of the odd good deed when most would be tempted to be evil. They tell of justice served through fate, or of humor, jokes, and pranks. They shed light on places and events that would otherwise be left for the dry text in history books and make them seem as though they were, and are, real. I am a Warrior. I am strong in body and in spirit. I may not be in my prime, but yet I am. I have aged and matured. I no longer wish for wars and battles, but for peace and serenity. Long past are the desires for revenge or destruction. They have been replaced by a need for reparations and creations. The eyes of a warrior long to look upon the face of a babe that needs protection. Those eyes yearn for approving looks and admiration. My arms have seen toil and strife. They have been used as tools, and as weapons. They, only now, know the pain they have brought on. Now, they wish for usefulness and skill. They hope for talent so that they may provide for another. They hope that someday they will be needed to hold a child or even walk that child down an aisle into the arms of another. My ears have heard screams and cries. They have been subjected to harsh sounds of battle that make the demons cringe. They are now dull in their interpretation. They no longer have acuteness and a sharp edge. They hear dull sounds, muffled noises. They will not, however, be ever able to ignore a crying plea for a child. They will hear names that will bring the largest to tears, but yet also names that make Pride obvious to others. Oh, to hear the stillness in nature with a breeze rustling the giant trees from their calm. I am a Warrior. My soul yearns for peace, for the rest of my body has experienced that bliss. As long as there is oppressed or evil, none of our souls will truly be at rest. Evil lurks, and though the body has come to calm, the mind and soul of the Warrior will remain in the storm. It will maintain its vigil against darkness and despair, though it journeys there at great length. The Warrior has learned that by knowing your enemy, you will be better suited to combat it. This leads to questions unanswered, and problems unsolved. The true Warrior’s soul will always ask, “How will I succeed?” It only knows one answer, and that is through God. The Warrior’s soul longs for a place called Heaven, and the rewards that are promised there. Someday, that place will be a possibility. My God has promised me the opportunity to visit, so long as I serve with his Warriors faithfully, and according to His rules. This is my ultimate and most important fight. I pray that my journey ends in victory. The Warrior has a strange method and unusual habits. Though not known to many, he has these for reasons. He talks proudly of foreign soils visited and things learned there. Not always meant in braggadocio, the Warrior’s tale seems tall and distant, sometimes nostalgic. His tales aren’t always meant for everyone, but he sometimes does not understand. He only wishes to share his memories that cause him inner strife so that he may eventually come to peace within his soul. His habits are not always the best, for he learned only to succeed, not be the neatest. He comes, and then he returns, not always knowing where his journey will lead. Only God can answer this, and most will never realize their true path. The Warrior knows his direction, just not the best path. That will come in time, through hard work, a dose or ten of anguish, and more importantly, prayer. Do not pity the Warrior, merely pray for his journey. Though he walks in silently, his worst habit is to leave a large trail wherever he has been. This is from his personality and pride. The Warrior isn’t always proud of his trail, but always happy to be on the path to his next destination. The Warriors life isn’t always the best. It seems to have some of the hardest ground to cover. He knows that his path ahead is not the best, but he always trudges on, never ceasing his journey. He has few friends to take with him simply because most cannot accept the life he leads. Few that are not like the Warrior will ever know him from his soul. They likely will admire him from afar and be cautious to take to him. Those that make that step into his life will understand eventually that he is determined to make that step a rewarded movement with a lifetime of devotion and love. The Warrior knows love indeed. His love is not for himself, nor self-serving. It is a love of devotion and dedication to ideas and friends, to family, and to God. He expects very little in return for his love. He knows that he is commonly misunderstood, and has accepted that fact. His need to love is greater than most will understand, only surpassed by his need to be loved. The Warrior’s future holds no guarantee. It is a life of fluidity and motion that never ends. It can end in success or failure. Only God knows which. Only the Warrior can decide his path, though his love for others guides it along the way. His future is blurred by fate, probably for a reason. To let his guard down, he becomes vulnerable. Although he allows love to take him by the hand, almost too readily, he will merely react by returning his guard in an ever expanding circle around those he calls his own. The Warrior’s family will know safety and warmth in his embrace. If there should ever be a doubt in him, let his deeds show his proof. He will march the long path to his journey’s end to prove his dedication above reproach. Shed no tear for me for I am a Warrior. Used by permission © Copyright 1997, David Stopher --------------------------------------------- All comments are appeciated. But PLEASE take a moment of time to let the Author know how you feel and think about his work. http://www.cherrytap.com/blog/9580

A few months ago; My family had a surprise birthday party for my Step-Mother, when She turned 75! Later on that day; we found out we had another special event going on! Except for the Current War, we had a representative from every Major War or Campaign going back to World War II. (With myself counting for the First Iraq War & the Cold War!) That is hard to get at Military Organizational meetings. And here we had it among friends and family. Then in my latest History Magazine, they are talking about that roughly 1,000 World War II Veterans die each and every day and the history that we are losing with them. So they are asking for people to send in stories of where you were when you heard the news about Pearl Harbor. Speaking of Pearl Harbor, you might know that the survivors get together about every 5 or 10 years. This you might not know, the last get together might just be the last one. Well when you think about it, the youngest among them is still in the 80's So before they are all Gone, Don't forget to Thank one of these Veterans!!

I was just told about a great Poem for the Military, entitled To Be Free of Fear. Now, the Material is copyrighted by: Karma (-: Impaired member :-)
So instead of seeking permission to copy this and another Poem I think you will like. I decide to just give you the Links to them. Poem: To Be Free of Fear Poem: The Immortal Soldier I hope you enjoy them as much as I did! David